Page 75 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir

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Not even a little.

The pod shudders as its engines spool.

T-MINUS 10 SECONDS.

“I love you,” I say.

It falls out of my mouth before I can stop it.

The words feel like a grenade going off in my chest.

His eyes go wide.

Just for a second.

Then something in him caves in.

He bows his head.

When he looks back up, his voice is wrecked.

“I know,” he says.

Then the pod drops.

The floor falls out from under me and my scream tears loose as the launch rails slam me backward into the harness.

The viewport blurs.

The service bay shrinks.

Kalev gets smaller.

Smaller.

Gone.

The skyabove Yareth Prime is the color of bruised steel.

Cloud layers shear past the viewport as the pod punches through the upper atmosphere, rattling violently as turbulence batters the hull.

My body is still convulsing.

I taste blood.

I can’t stop shaking.

“Kalev,” I whisper into the empty pod. “Kalev, Kalev, Kalev?—”

There’s no answer.

Just the whine of engines.

Just the cold, automated voice counting down orbital insertion.

I press my forehead to the viewport.

“I’m sorry,” I sob. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

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